


fait accompli

by yesterday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Blood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday/pseuds/yesterday
Summary: “Do you, Christopher Argent, agree to take Peter Hale as your omega?”Chris says, steady as you go, “I do.”“And do you, Peter Hale, consent to take Christopher Argent as your alpha?”Chris holds his breath. The sound of his heartbeat is an unrelenting drum in his ears.





	fait accompli

**Author's Note:**

> written for petopher week prompt: matchmaker! though i think i deviated a little and i'm a little late lmao. i read it over, but i finished very late at night, so if i missed a typo, do let me know.
> 
> WARNING: there is a bit of ritual sacrifice in there, a lot of blood, and the consumption of raw deer heart. (please don't eat raw deer heart it isn't good for you irl lmao)

The ceremony is small. The Hale pack is in attendance, along with the remaining Argents and trusted adjacents, gathered in the sprawling backyard of the Hale property. His mother, Aline, is a silent, solid presence beside him. No one speaks. Anticipation hangs like a heavy fog over the crowd. Chris is sweating— blood covers his hands, doe dead at his feet. He dragged it out of the preserve only ten minutes ago, as per tradition, going through the motions almost mechanically. 

Every alpha is taught the intricacies of the Bonding Ceremony in school. It isn’t difficult. Chris never had any illusions about the circumstances under which his own Bonding would take place. The Argents are matriarchal, so Kate would become the next leader, and as her brother, anyone he Bonded with would be for an alliance advantageous to them. 

Of course, that was before Kate and Gerard went renegade seven months prior and tried to murder the entire Hale pack, breaking the code and almost reigniting the worst of the hunter-werewolf conflict. After several long weeks of negotiations and spats, this is the end result. 

Chris has never even laid eyes on Peter Hale before. 

On paper, he has the bare facts: Peter Hale, brother to Talia Hale. Twenty-four. Went to Berkeley, is a werewolf and an omega. He acts as a consultant, whatever that means. There are no recent pictures of him, but that isn’t entirely unusual. Omegas are precious, carefully guarded and kept. Still, something about the utter lack of a face to go with the name, the neat evasion of any cameras, makes Chris wonder if there’s more to it. The most recent photo is from the Beacon Hills High School yearbook. Peter Hale has blue eyes, dark hair, fine cheekbones, and a smile that spells trouble. He looks pretty in the way most omegas do. The Hale pack has a couple of other omegas. Why this one? 

A stir ripples through the crowd. The werewolves part to either side. Talia Hale sweeps forward, arm linked through another werewolf’s. Chris’s eyes catch on Peter Hale. So does his breath. 

They’re nearly of height, but Talia is tall. The family resemblance strong. Put side by side, there is no mistaking Peter and Talia Hale for anything other than siblings. Gone is the delicate prettiness of his younger years— in its place, Peter Hale is all gorgeous lines, broad shoulders, strong neck and clear forehead, the lush promise of his mouth unchanged. His eyes are framed by a dense sweep of dark lashes, more suited for a dreamer than the cool assessment in them. One, more accurately. A whip of white scar tissue slices down across his left eyebrow, curving to the middle of his cheek. That eye is clouded over and milky. Blind. 

A shift of the wind carries Peter’s scent to Chris and he sucks in a sharp breath. All omegas smell good to a degree to alphas, but this— he feels drugged, only years of ingrained training keeping him from swaying forward and trying to huff in deep breaths of Peter Hale’s scent like it comes in powder form, thin white lines. 

He’s carrying the laying hen in the crook of his free arm. By the time Peter is less than a foot away from Chris, he has himself back under control. 

“Hale,” he says. 

“Argent.” Peter’s voice is a silky, light baritone. 

“Well met,” his mother says to Talia, “let’s get started.” 

Talia nods. Peter and Chris face each other automatically, Talia at Peter’s back, Chris’s mother at his. Around them, their audience forms a loose circle. The druid presiding clears his throat and starts to go through the Bonding rites. 

“If anyone wishes to challenge this Bonding, come forth now.”

A tense silence descends over the crowd. Chris flicks his eyes towards them. No one moves. 

“Excellent,” the druid says, and glances at Chris. “Prepare your offering.” 

Chris takes the hunting knife offered by his mother. He guts the deer neatly, pulling its heart from its ribs. Cups it in his hands and offers it to Peter. “From this day onward, I will provide for you and shelter you, through sickness and health.” 

Peter accepts the heart and bites into it, eyes half shut. Blood spills down his chin and he hums in satisfaction. He doesn’t eat anything beyond the bite, offering the heart back to Chris. He echoes him, “From this day onward, what’s yours is mine and mine is yours. I will care for you, through sickness and health.” 

The blood is a flood of iron on his tongue, the heart chewy and cooling around the edges. Chris forces himself to swallow it. Once done, the heart is set aside. It will be eaten along with the rest of the kill by all those present. 

“Do you, Christopher Argent, agree to take Peter Hale as your omega?” 

Chris says, steady as you go, “I do.” 

“And do you, Peter Hale, consent to take Christopher Argent as your alpha?” 

Chris holds his breath. The sound of his heartbeat is an unrelenting drum in his ears. 

“I do,” Peter says. 

“Then I now pronounce you Bonded, alpha and omega. From this day onward, Argent and Hale are united. Congratulations.” The druid smiles. 

Chris won’t recall who steps forward first. Peter’s mouth is as soft as promised, the kiss chaste and brief.

A smatter of murmuring rises up, followed by the first howl from Talia, joined by the rest of the Hales. Thunderous applause follows, twining together with the wolf song. Chris sneaks a look at his mother’s face; it is set and no less fierce than any one of the werewolves’ present. His focus slides back to Peter, wetness glistening on his chin, eyes glittering in the setting sun. He is wild and he is Chris’s. Something surges up in Chris that he can’t identify. 

Talia holds out a hand and Chris places his palm up in it. She slices across the meatiest part of it. Aline does the same for Peter. They join hands, blood slicking and dripping down their fingers onto the hen’s feathers. It squawks in protest, but caught in Peter’s firm grip, goes nowhere. They would eat the eggs it lays in the following days. Over the copper film of blood in the air, he can scent Peter and does so brazenly, nudging his nose right behind Peter’s ear and inhaling deeply. 

Peter goes stiff but relaxes a second later, so quickly Chris would have missed it had he not been pressed right up against him. He crouches down and sets the chicken free to wander. The wolves will make sure it doesn’t wander off. 

Everything springs back into motion. His mother squeezes him on the shoulder. She tells him, “Well done.” 

Chris nods. She sweeps off, presumably to supervise the butchering and cooking over the deer. The rest of the Hales start to drag picnic tables from the edges of the garden towards the center. Hunters Chris has known all of his life mingle warily. Talia kisses Peter on the temple and exeunts, leaving Chris and Peter alone.

“Well, alpha of mine,” Peter says, “how about some champagne?” 

“Chris,” he says, “you can call me Chris.” 

Peter arches an eyebrow at him. The scar flexes on the other side of his face when he does it, but the flaw only emphasises his good looks. “Christopher, I want champagne. Get me some while I go clean up.” 

“Shouldn’t you wait until after I’ve knotted you to start getting demanding?” Chris can’t help himself. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you and I both know we’re a done deal if we don’t want an all out war on our hands.” 

He’s right. This isn’t a love match. Hell, it isn’t even a friends match. It’s an alliance, pure and simple. but from how Peter is smirking at him, painted in red and golds from the sunset, this might just work. Chris snorts. He deliberately rests his still bleeding palm across the nape of Peter’s neck, proprietary, and squeezes. “Be right back, then.” 

Peter catches his wrist before Chris can leave. He brings Chris’s hand to his mouth and licks the blood from his skin, tongue sweeping over his knuckles and lips closing around his fingers in an obscene stretch as he sucks them clean. All the while, his good eye is fixed on Chris, challenging. He says after Chris’s last finger slides from between his red mouth, “Run along, Christopher.” 

Yeah, this might just work.

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH so this ended up being weirdly more about random made up variations of marriage that could happen in omegaverse. 
> 
> i might continue it at some point.


End file.
